Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A lpha training with Stark continues to pass with painstaking slowness. Every day is a battle. He seems to take great satisfaction in sending me home battered and exhausted.
It’s not for nothing, though.
As much as I hate to admit it, he knows what he’s doing. There’s a method to his unrelenting brutality.
Sometimes I hate him. Stark isn’t above kicking me when I’m down—literally—in fact, he seems to relish taking every opportunity to do so. But after three weeks of his daily lessons, I’m stronger both mentally and physically. My body is hardened from the hours and hours of fight training, my mind sharpened from the endless tactical study.
I’m actually grateful to him—not that I would ever say so. I’m starting to feel like an Alpha. Or at least like there’s some hope I can actually fulfill the role.
Today, I’ve been holding my own for almost the entire lesson. But Stark is significantly stronger than me, has years of battle experience, and his stamina is insane.
My only physical advantage is speed—and it’s not a big one. He’s a lot faster than a man his size has any right to be.
My other advantage is the down-and-dirty tricks I learned while fighting in the pits. There haven’t been many opportunities to use them, though. Stark’s superior skills have kept me almost entirely on the defense.
But today, after an hour of savage hand-to-hand, he starts to flag.
It’s subtle—I only see it because I’ve become so intimately familiar with the way he moves. There’s no hesitation in his attacks, but he’s not hitting quite as hard and fast as before.
He’s sweating, flushed, face screwed into a scowl of intense focus.
For the first time since we started this routine, he’s nearing his limit. Which means I have an opportunity that might never appear again.
I mirror his slowed movements, projecting my own exhaustion. Letting him think I’m losing my edge.
And just like that, he gives me an opening.
In an adrenaline-driven flash, I drop to the floor and sweep his legs out from under him, rolling onto his chest as he lands.
His hands clamp onto my knee as I press it against his throat. He could throw me off, but if this were a real fight, I would have already crushed his trachea.
He’s down. Beaten.
There’s a brief moment of shock—mine and his—as I stare into his eyes.
Then his hand tightens around my knee, my body hyper-aware of the contact. He strokes his thumb on my leg and warm sparks explode through my body. I’m starved for physical contact that isn’t brutal, I remind myself; Killian and I have continued to keep things chaste until I can figure out how Anassa wants to handle the bond.
While I’m distracted by the sensation, he yanks my knee to the side and I tumble forward, the apex between my thighs skirting dangerously close to his mouth.
I roll to the side as quickly as I can, flopping onto the floor next to him. The air is filled with the twin sounds of our ragged breath.
“I beat you,” I pant out, pretending that I didn’t get thrown entirely off my game at the end.
“You did,” he says, letting me have the win.
Oddly humbled and triumphant at once, I get up and offer him my hand.
Stark’s eyes narrow, but there’s no anger in them. No pride, either—not that I expected any. There is something, though. A gleam of emotion too complex to make sense of.
He ignores my hand and gets up on his own.
“We’re done for today,” he says, turning away from me quickly. “You’re dismissed.”
I leave his office drained and sore but elated. I’m making progress—significant, meaningful progress.
For the first time since I entered this world, I’m not totally unsure about my chances of survival. I have a long way to go still, but my prospects are looking much better than before, thanks to Stark.
Too bad he’s such an asshole , I muse, wandering back to my room. It would be nice to see him as an ally. We are supposed to be part of one big pack, after all.
But whatever. I don’t need to make friends with him to get what I need. I’m not sure Stark is even capable of friendship, anyway. He’s basically a walking war machine. And it hasn’t escaped me that his malicious attitude toward me has been a big motivating factor in my performance.
If he were nicer, I probably wouldn’t have come so far so quickly.
My thoughts of Stark scatter when I step into my room to find it occupied.
“Hi,” I say with a smile as Killian rises from his seat at my desk.
His face immediately darkens when he sees my bruises. There’s still blood on my lip, even though Anassa has healed me. Concern and anger war on his handsome features as he comes to me and gingerly touches my face.
“That fucking prick ,” he growls. “Does he really need to do this to you every day?”
I grin. “It was worth it. I beat him today for the first time.”
Killian sighs, lips curving into a rueful smile. “Congratulations. Though I wish your victory didn’t require quite so much blood.”
Anassa’s healing powers don’t do much for my bruises or muscle aches, so Killian still tends to me, rubbing healing tinctures into my hurts. I smile and sit down on the bed while Killian retrieves the familiar medicine kit from my wardrobe. He sits beside me and begins tending to my wounds with practiced care.
This has become our ritual. Stark beats me up, Killian stitches me back together again. It’s made the whole process a lot easier, knowing Killian will be here to soothe me after Stark’s lessons.
Killian’s touch is feather light against my bruised flesh, and despite the aches and pains, heat sparks in my body.
I can’t take it anymore. These past couple of weeks have been tortuous.
“Can I please have some privacy?” I ask Anassa. “I’m dying here. I won’t block you out if you think I can’t do it correctly, but maybe you can put the wall up from your end in a way that is satisfactory for you?”
There’s a long silence and then finally she says, “Fine.” There’s a slight pressure in my head as she erects the wall, and I try to project gratitude through it.
When Killian leans in to examine the place where my lip had split, I catch his mouth with mine. The kiss flares hot, tasting of copper and desire. As it deepens, my body responds with a searing rush of arousal driven by lingering adrenaline and triumph from my fight with Stark—not to mention that weird spark of desire I’d felt.
Killian leans into the kiss urgently, catching my top lip in his teeth, then plundering my mouth with his tongue.
I’m aware of all the pains in my body as he starts undressing me, but somehow, they only feed the desire. I’m feverish—primal.
Impatient, I pull Killian down on the bed roughly, climbing on top of him, both of us still only half-undressed. Grind myself against him, my underclothes already damp. Catching his eyes, I run my tongue slowly across my bottom lip.
Killian groans at the sight, and then flips us over so that he’s on top, pinning my arms down on the mattress. His mouth drops to my breasts, teeth grazing one nipple before biting down over the other, and I see stars.
I buck my hips, looking for friction, needing that press of him against me. Killian just presses me down into the mattress, looking at me in amusement. “Need something, kitten?”
Half-heartedly, I squirm against his hold. “What if… you let me take charge tonight,” I say, mouth going dry at the look in his eyes.
“I’ll take good care of you,” Killian growls, moving one of his hands down to my hips and yanking off my remaining clothes, then teasing me with his fingers, first one, and then two, relentlessly pushing into my slick heat.
At the stretch of his touch so deep inside of me, heat unfurls in my abdomen, and I move my hips mindlessly. I lose the power of speech for a moment when he curls his fingers at exactly that spot I like.
“ Goddess , Killian,” I moan, and then yelp as his thumb finds my clit, swirling over the sensitive bundle of nerves as a third finger joins the other two inside of me.
“Good girl,” Killian says roughly, lavishing kisses and bites along my collarbone, up the column of my neck.
Using a move from the fighting rings, I hook a knee around Killian and flip us back over, relishing the feeling of power as I reposition us on the bed. He watches in amusement as my hands scramble at the tie of his pants, teasing the hard heat of him with my hands as I pull off the last of his clothing, ready to ride him until I find my satisfaction.
Killian lets me shimmy his trousers down his legs, but then as I climb back up him, he wraps a hand in my hair, yanking my face up until we’re looking each other straight in the eye.
I moan at the pull of my hair wrapped firmly in Killian’s fingers, his grip just tight enough. One of Killian’s signature moves in bed, the familiarity and promise in the feeling of his hand in my hair makes me even wetter until I’m dripping for him.
“Use your mouth, kitten,” Killian orders, pulling my face down toward his cock. I sink down eagerly, wrapping a hand around the base as I tease the tip with my tongue, loving the way his hips thrust involuntarily at the soft suction of my mouth.
Slowly, surely, I take as much of him into my mouth as I can. The thick head of his cock hits the back of my throat, and I groan around him at the sensation. Killian answers with a groan of his own, then uses his grip on my hair to move me up and down his shaft, my lips making a lewd popping noise as they stretch around the head and then push back down to take him in deeper.
I tongue the bottom of his cock as I take him deeper and deeper, moaning helplessly, tears pricking my eyes as he thrusts back up into my mouth. Just when I think I can’t take it any deeper, Killian yanks my head off him and pulls me up, positioning my hips above his and then yanking me down in one sharp motion.
I cry out, the exquisite fullness so intense that it’s almost pain. Killian doesn’t give me time to adjust, just uses his grip on my hips to pull me up and then sharply back down again, deeper than I thought possible.
I’m astride him, like I wanted, but the punishing pace is too much for me to match, I can’t find the rhythm. I let Killian move me instead, up and down his length until I’m babbling his name, pleading, saying I don’t know what, words with no meaning, as he drives me insane.
As I fall apart on top of him, Killian lets go too, that steely control slipping for a moment as he slams up into me a final time, finding his release.
Neither of us says anything afterward, just curling around each other in the bed, letting our breathing and heartbeats slow. I try to let myself relax, knowing that moments with Killian might be rare once I’ve graduated and need to head to the front. Try to focus on his warm body pressed into mine, and the hard planes of his stomach under my lazy touch.
But like every time I’ve shut my eyes over the past few weeks, a familiar image rises in my memory: that metal object glinting in the arena drain.
Dammit . What was that thing? And why do I keep waking up there of all places? Is it just my anxiety around the Trials coming to life in my nightmares?
I know there’s a good chance that whatever I’m seeing is another delusion, just like the screams I heard or the carving under the tapestry.
The image won’t leave me. I have to find out if it’s real.
“Killian?” I venture, trying to keep my tone casual. “Do you know much about the Rawbond arena? Like, what’s underneath it?”
He makes a drowsy humming sound, one hand trailing aimless circles across my back. “Underneath? Just the drainage system, I assume. Why?”
I shrug. “I was wondering if there are secret passages and stuff there, too.”
He makes another contemplative hum. “Could be. This place is ancient—there’s much that I don’t know about it, even after living here my whole life. The castle has secrets I’ll probably never uncover.”
Something in his tone catches at me. I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face. There’s nothing unusual to read there, however. He looks sated and a little sleepy.
The castle has secrets I’ll probably never uncover .
Strange. He’s the crown prince—shouldn’t he have access to every part of the castle? Shouldn’t he know all its nooks and crannies?
Maybe his father is keeping things from him. The more I get to know about King Cyril, the less I trust him.
“What’s the matter?” Killian asks, lifting one hand to trail his fingers across my cheek.
“Nothing,” I say, mustering a smile. “Just tired.”
Tired of your father’s shit . I know Killian has no love spared for the king, but also—it’s his father . Family is a blind spot for all of us. If it’s possible that the king is hiding something from Killian, would Killian even want to know?
Killian kisses me and gets dressed, heading back to his quarters to handle some of his royal duties. All the while, my mind spins.
He disappears through the wardrobe, and my mind spins.
I get dressed, too, and my mind spins.
The more that I think about it, the more certain I become that the king has secrets. And I know just how to figure them out.
Venna is nowhere to be found. She’s not with Izabel in the Strategos anteroom, or in the Rawbond common lounge. She’s not in the Kryptos anteroom—and when I poke my head in there, one of the Kryptos recruits snippily says, “You have to stop coming in here!”
Venna’s a ghost. Kryptos Rawbonds are trained to move unseen—and they take to those lessons quickly.
Tracking her through the castle proves challenging, but eventually, I find her in one of the lesser-used greenhouse courtyards. The shadowy space is smaller than most of the others, and a little less cultivated. The ancient stone walls are covered in ivy. The wild tendrils drip from the arbors and trail the edges of the cobbled path.
Venna is perched on a weathered stone bench near the central fountain, talking animatedly with another Kryptos Rawbond. They’re signing with their hands occasionally. Venna quickly realized how useful it was as a Kryptos to know a language that can be spoken with your hands rather than your voice, and has been teaching all the other Kryptos Rawbonds some sign language.
Venna says something about training as I approach. Then the other Kryptos spots me coming, signs, “Bye,” and hurries off.
That’s been happening a lot lately. I’m still not popular among the Rawbonds. Not sure if it’s because word spread that I shut my direwolf out the night of the ball, or because I’m sleeping with the crown prince, or just because I’m an Alpha now. Maybe all three.
Venna turns to look at me and I can tell she’s cataloging the details of my appearance—the fresh bruises from training, the nervousness in my posture, the slight swelling of my recently split lip.
“I need your help,” I tell her. Then I move closer, looking around to make sure no one else is around, listening. I don’t know enough sign language yet to do this with my hands, although I really wish I weren’t about to say this aloud. “I think the king is hiding things from Killian. Important things. About the castle, maybe.”
Her brows go up in question, then down again as her expression turns calculating. “Be careful. That’s a dangerous line of thinking.”
“I know,” I say, “but I just get the sense that something is wrong here. I need someone who can watch without being seen. Someone who notices everything.”
Venna smiles, a bit of pride shining through that I’ve acknowledged her skills.
“I think you’re right,” she says, voice pitched low. “I’ve noticed patterns in the castle shadows. Servants moving at strange hours. Doors that should be open that are locked. Sounds that don’t match with any of the castle’s normal operations.”
I’m relieved to have her confirmation that something is amiss, but the implications send a chill down my spine.
Just as I’m about to ask for more details, there’s a scuff of footsteps behind me.
“Alpha Cooper?”
I turn to see one of the castle messengers approaching. He holds out a sealed letter. “Urgent message from the front.”
Heart speeding, I open the carefully sealed missive, recognizing the handwriting inside as Egith’s.
The message is short. As I read, the paper begins to tremble in my hands.
The final line looms large in my vision.
“We may have located the missing children.”